


under a microscope or under a spotlight

by Ragno



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Domestic Violence, M/M, Pre-Panic!, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragno/pseuds/Ragno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon always talks about it. Ryan doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under a microscope or under a spotlight

 

 

Brendon always talks about it. He sees no shame in that, so everybody knows. Everybody knows he gest beaten at school. It’s always been like that, since he can remember, there was always someone shoving him into lockers, mocking at him, spitting on him, calling him names, “faggot”, “pussy”, or Brendon’s favorite, “Mormon”. It takes truly art to make a neutral word become an insulting one.

Sometimes it’s worst, of course, but not all the time. Sometimes they actually kick him, twist his arms, push him against the wall, hitting so hard Brendon thinks something is going to break inside him. It never happens though. They only break him outside.

And he always talks about it, even if no one seems to care. And he does with a smile on his face, laughing like you would laugh if it happened years ago, not minutes ago.

Yes, he talks about it. But that doesn’t make his stomach stop clenching every morning just thinking about what’s about to come.

 

*

—So, this kid started to talk to me today in class. I didn’t recognize anybody and he told me to sit with him. Weird kid, I think he’s Mormon or something —says Brent—. But we talked and he’s like, a musical genius freak or some shit. He plays a lot, so maybe we could tell him to join. We needed another guitar, right?

Ryan clicks his tongue, frowning a little. He’s not sure he can trust Brent when it comes to music, and less people. He doesn’t even know why they’re friends, so it’s hard to make a decision based in his judgment.

—What do you think? —He asks Spencer.

—We can give it a try —Spencer says, twisting his lips.

Ryan thinks about it a few more seconds and nods, telling Brent to bring the kid to the next rehearsal. They’ve got nothing to lose, really. If the kid’s bad they send him home, if the kid’s good they keep him around a little and see how things go. Ryan only hopes this Brendon-Mormon-Kid doesn’t want to make like, religious songs or something.

 

*

—Fuck no, Spence! I _hate_ that kid! —Screams Ryan overdramatically, raising his arms to the sky. Spencer rolls his eyes.

—Dude, he’s really good. Like, fucking amazing —Spencer says—. And he plays piano too! We could use it to get the sound we were looking for. A fucking piano, Ross!

—Fuck it, I play piano too —Ryan says, and Spencer snorts—. What?

—Nothing! —Spencer laughs and Ryan squint his eyes.

—He said I look like a girl.

—He said he expected your voice to be higher —Spencer corrects.

—Because he thought I looked like a girl!! —Ryan screams and Spencer laughs again—. And he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth. I hate him! I do! And if you bring him back again I’m going to strangle him, or kill myself, or _both_.

Spencer looks at him in silence for a minute, Ryan huffing with arms akimbo.

—I’m calling Brent. I need Brendon’s number if we’re going to keep playing with him.

Ryan curses his poor self. The world is against him.

 

*

Brendon has noticed, he has thought about it, but today is the first time he has known for sure. Ryan comes to practice with a backpack and Spencer only nods and doesn’t say a thing when Ryan goes upstairs and comes back again backpack free.

He’s wearing long sleeves and a scarf even if it’s too hot outside to wear anything more than a t-shirt. His bottom lip looks swollen.

—Can’t sing today —Ryan says, and his voice sounds really fucked up, like he had been screaming for hours—. Let’s go just instrumental, okay?

—I can do it —Brendon offers and everybody looks at him. He bites his lips and laughs nervously—. I mean, I know the words. It’s better if we, you know…

—Yeah, why not, let’s go —Ryan says, moving his hand in the air.

 

*

—Why didn’t you tell me? —Ryan asks.

—I… I didn’t know… —Brendon answers.

 

*

It’s the second time Brendon notice, when Ryan says something about changing the lyrics now that he’s going to be the singer, something about his voice giving him enough confidence to say other things, important things. They go to Ryan’s house and Brendon can feel the emptiness the moment he crosses the door.

—It’s okay. Nobody’s home. Let’s go upstairs —Ryan says, and he’s running upstairs before finishing the sentence.

Brendon follows him, looking at how different is Ryan’s room for the rest of the house, almost as if he was in an absolutely different place. There are a lot of books, _a lot_ , and it’s not messy at all to be a teenager’s room. Ryan’s guitar is leaning against the corner near his bed and there are some scribbled paper sheets on top of the covers.

—Come here, sit —Ryan says, taking his jacket off, sitting in his bed.

While discussing new lyrics, Brendon tries not to stare at the bruises in Ryan’s arms.

 

*

Ryan doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t need to, and it’s not like it’s going to be better or something if he talked. So he doesn’t. Maybe it’s his way to justify why it’s still happening, because he doesn’t talk about it. That way, if anything really bad happens he can think somebody would have help if they had known, only they didn’t.

It’s better than talk and know for sure no one’s going to help.

Ryan’s okay with it, anyway. He knows it’s just a matter of time. He’s going to college, he’s going to be a writer, he’s going to get the fuck out of there. Someday.

So Ryan’s okay with it. Really. It’s just…

It is what it is.

 

*

Brendon cries. A lot. And maybe some people would think that’s kind of annoying, but he doesn’t give a fuck. Crying is healthy. So, if he’s hurt, he cries. It’s simple.

Or maybe it isn’t, because there are different kinds of hurt. When they beat the shit out of him, it hurts, hurts like a motherfucker, but that doesn’t make Brendon cry. It’s not about pride or anything, fuck pride, it’s just. It’s not enough. Not to make him cry at least. It’s enough to make him curse like a sailor, it’s enough to make him anger, mad, violent sometimes. But not to cry.

There are a lot of things that hurt more than a hit. Not be able to come home, for example. Missing his mother every morning. Being alone at night. Not having friends.

Those are the things worth crying for.

 

*

—Who did this? —Ryan asks, looking at his broken face.

—You know… —Brendon shrugs. It’s not like he even know their names.

They’re at Brendon’s apartment, discussing lyrics again, lying on the floor. They decided to come here since the last time in Ryan’s house everything went completely wrong. They were just about to finish when they heard the front door slam and someone started screaming. Ryan’s body stiffened and asked Brendon to leave quietly.

The day after that, in Spencer’s garage, Ryan was struggling to keep his guitar in place.

—Wait a minute, let me… —Ryan stands up, going to the bathroom and returning with a wet washcloth—. It’s going to sting a little, ‘cause it has soap, but we need to clean it up, okay?

Brendon just nods and Ryan pushes his hair behind his ears, holding the washcloth and pressing a little right on the cut near his eyebrow. It stings, but Brendon doesn’t complain. Ryan holds his face with the other hand, starting to clean his whole face. For a kid who is usually pretty curt, Ryan moves especially careful while cleaning Brendon’s face. It feels nice, even if his skin hurts and everything is a mess.

—Open a little —Ryan says, pressing the cut on Brendon’s bottom lip, cleaning it up—. Okay, that’s it.

Ryan stands up again, throwing the washcloth with the dirty laundry and opening the fridge, taking an ice cube.

—Here —he says, kneeling in front of Brendon—. Put it in your mouth. It helps a lot.

—You know a lot about taking care of wounds —Brendon says, taking the ice cube in his hand, looking a it, not at Ryan.

—Yeah… I guess I do…

If Brendon cries right after that, it has nothing to do with the bruises in his face.

 

*

When it happens, its getting dark and Ryan is lying in Brendon’s bed, his head leaning from the edge. They’re talking about Fall Out Boy. Ryan’s laughing at Brendon for not knowing them and Brendon’s laughing at Ryan for his massive crush on Pete Wentz.

—You’re soooo gay for him, dude —Brendon says.

—I’m sooooo noooooot —Ryan replies, but the smile on his upside down face says quite the opposite.

—You aaaaaare —Brendon laughs, jumping up on his bed, making Ryan’s body bounce—. You want him to kiss your pretty face with his big donkey mouth —he says, tickling Ryan.

Ryan laughs and fight and tickles Brendon back, so they both end down on the floor, laughing and panting.

—Fuck —Ryan says, looking at the clock on Brendon’s bedside table—. I can’t go to Spence now. It’s too late —he bites his lips—. I better go home, B.

—Wait —Brendon stops him when Ryan tries to get up—. You can stay here, you know? You don’t… You can stay here. Whenever you want.

—It’s okay —Ryan waves—. You don’t have to… It’s okay, really.

Brendon kisses him. Right there, without warning. And Ryan jolts and stiffens and then he melts and sighs. Brendon doesn’t stop kissing him till they’re both lying again on the floor. When he leans back his checks are flushed and his lips red, and Ryan laughs.

—And you talk about Pete Wentz’s big mouth.

 

*

They don’t talk about it. Not that Brendon minds, if it was for him he would kiss Ryan right in front of his whole church, but Ryan has his reservations and Brendon understands. They don’t even talk about it with Spencer, although Brendon thinks he already suspects something. Brent’s oblivious, as always. Brent’s easy to work with.

—You sure everything’s okay? —Spencer asks, rising an eyebrow. Ryan rolls his eyes. Brendon sweats.

—It’s _fine_. If there was anything I’d told you —Ryan says with a flat tone and, whoa, Brendon is really impressed.

—You sure, then? —Spencer asks again and Brendon can see Ryan’s jaw twitch.

—Spence, you’re being terribly annoying.

—And you’re being a terrible liar, Ross —Spencer snaps extremely and weirdly calm, standing up from his drums—. So, I’m going upstairs for a drink, and when I come back I expect you —and when he says “you” Brendon _knows_ it’s not a single “you”— to tell me the truth before Brent comes.

—There’s nothing to say… —Ryan says again.

—Yeah, yeah, sure, okay —Spencer waves, going upstairs—. You’ve got a hickey under you left ear, by the way. And Brendon’s fly is open.

So, yeah. Spencer knows. But they’re safe from anyone else.

 

*

Ryan would never say this out loud, or maybe he would, and maybe he already have, drunken with passion and right on the edge of pleasure, but otherwise he would never say this out loud: Brendon is probably the best thing that has happened in his life.

He feels his cheeks getting warm just thinking about it. It’s not fair, because Brendon’s kind of an asshole. He’s too loud and too energetic and he’s always jumping and laughing and fucking _shining_ so bright it could blind someone. And usually these kinds of people make Ryan want to live in a cave in the bottom of the ocean, in peace and quiet and darkness. But Brendon… well, let’s say Ryan just want to put on shades and enjoy the summer sun.

 

*

—You’re in love with me! —Brendon says, and seriously, where the fuck are Ryan’s sunglasses?

—Oh, God —Ryan cover his face with his hands.

—You are! —Brendon says again, looking at Ryan with big, lovey-dovey eyes. It’s ridiculous—. Oh my God, you love me so much, Ross.

—Shut up.

—You know what we should do? Do you? —Brendon asks and Ryan waits for some other cheesy, silly idea—. We should totally fuck.

 

*

Brendon bites the inside of his mouth, trying to keep his breath steady as he works two fingers inside Ryan. He’s never been so anxious in his life, it feels like he’s going to burst in flames or implode or something. They’ve never done anything like this. Hand jobs, sure, blowjobs, a few, but this? Actual sex? Brendon feels he’s going to fail miserable.

He wants to go fast, fast, fast, but this need to be slow, slow, slow, and it’s killing, killing, killing him.

—It’s this okay? —Brendon asks with his mouth dry and his eyes wide, because Ryan’s right there, Ryan’s legs, Ryan’s hips, Ryan’s cock.

—Yeah… Yeah, come on.

Brendon bites the inside of his mouth even harder when he sinks in Ryan.

 

*

—And, when do I get to fuck you? —Ryan asks.

—Have you seen your cock?? —Brendon winces dramatically—. You want to break me in two or something? —Ryan smirks and Brendon flushes—. Okay, gimme five minutes to recover.

 

*

School is almost over, what means his fist-aid kit is soon to be forgotten. Brendon’s grades are great as always, and even Brent is getting better in the subjects they share. He’s thinking about applying to the University of Nevada as well as Ryan, even if he could totally go to wherever he wants with his grades. He doesn’t really care about studies, he’s even thinking about that Creative Writing thing. Not that he likes it a lot, but it would mean spending more time with Ryan, and that’s reason enough.

He knows he could be happy here, with the band and his friends and Ryan. Yeah, he could be happy here, for once in his life.

 

*

Ryan’s lying there, not moving at all, right on Spencer’s bed, and Brendon can’t stop crying. Even when Ryan opens his eyes and calls him stupid with a semi smile on his lips, Brendon smiles back, still crying.

—I’ll leave you both alone for a minute, okay? —Spencer murmurs, and he’s out of the bedroom before Brendon could notice.

Brendon sits beside Ryan at the edge of the bed, taking his hand between his own. Ryan looks awful. His right cheek is swollen and there’s dry blood on his nose and his lips, and all over his t-shirt. There are purple bruises in his arms and red welts. Brendon lifts his t-shirt a little, just to put it down again, not wanting to see the contusions in his ribs. It’s a miracle there’s nothing broken. He’s strong. Ryan’s fucking strong.

—He found out —Ryan says—. About us —And that’s enough.

Brendon sobs and Ryan smiles again.

—Why do you never cry? —Brendon asks.

—There’s nothing left inside to come out.

Brendon clench his jaw and cries even more, the heat turning his skin red.

—Are you gonna leave me? —Brendon asks, because he knows it would be the best thing to do. Because there’s a reason everybody leaves him sooner or later.

—I’m going to keep you forever, you hear me? —Ryan squeezes his hand—. Forever.

 

*

 

Ryan wonders if it would be a time when Brendon and him would kiss and neither of them would taste like blood.

He wonders if he would miss the taste.

He can’t wait to find out.

 

 

 


End file.
